


Through the Fire and Flames

by shelny18



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, F/M, Great Fire of London, M/M, Mobs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 21:23:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2323646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shelny18/pseuds/shelny18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Great Fire of London starts to spread, a mob gathers, blaming the fire on the foreigners living with the city walls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the Fire and Flames

**Author's Note:**

> In the second and third chapters, almost every storyline is based on a real person and real events. The only thing I've done is switch round a couple of nationalities, added in families or taken them away, added in a few storylines of my own. The first chapter however, that is completely made up.

Bossuet laughed as Musichetta flicked a bit of water at him and he grabbed her hand, pulling her in for a quick kiss.

"You should have your lunch out more often," he told her, smiling fondly up at the woman he was courting.

"Mr Farriner would wonder where I was getting all my money from, if I could afford that," she laughed.

"Tell him you are engaged to a wealthy Frenchman."

"You are not that wealthy."

"No, but I have the money to treat you like the angel you are."

Musichetta laughed again.

"Away with you, before you make me late back with that golden tongue of yours," she scolded, but her smile and parting kiss on the cheek told him she'd rather not be leaving. Bossuet waited until the maid was out of sight before heading off himself, down to the docks to sort the next shipment of goods coming in from his home country.

* * *

"Grantaire!" Feuilly greeted with a smile, raising one hand to help gain the attention of the other man. The Dutchman grinned and waved back, shifting his bag as he headed over.

"It has been a while," he said hugging the Pole. "How are you?"

"Good," Feuilly replied, his smile widening. "The youngest is on her feet again." The entire family had been hit by the plague the year before and whilst they had been lucky enough that none of them had died, Feuilly's two-year-old daughter Marcela had been ill ever since.

"Now that is good news. You are a lucky man."

"What can I say, God smiles down on me. You on the other hand, not even ill."

Grantaire laughed. "There is far too much alcohol in this body for there to be space for illness." Shifting the bag of fabric again, he glanced at the clock on the nearby church and sighed. "And I must be off, for work calls. Jehan will never forgive me if his goods are late arriving with Her Ladyship. You must come round sometime though, I know both Jehan and Giselle would love to see you again. It really has been too long."

"One day soon," Feuilly promised.

* * *

"Sir, Alice Hobbs is here."

"Then show her in," Bahorel said impatiently, dismissing the servant. He smiled widely as he heard the familiar laughter, bowing and kissing her hand as soon as Alice was in the room.

"A girl could get used to this," she teased, pulling her hand away just long enough to close the door.

"I would say you have by now," he replied, leading her over to the table. "I thought perhaps some lunch first."

"That sounds lovely," said the mistress of the richest Swedish noble in the city, laughing as he hummed in reply and kissed her.

* * *

Knocking on the door, Grantaire grinned at the maid who opened it.

"Afternoon 'Ponine."

"Hello Grantaire," she replied with an amused smile. "Tell me, did you brush your hair this morning or has a bird nested in it since then?"

"Jehan insisted on waking me with the dawn to help him work," the artist complained, following her into the house. "Can you sort it for me?" He gave her his best puppy dog eyes and, as always, Eponine found herself powerless to resist. "Thanks sweetheart."

"Stop harassing the servants Grantaire," a blonde said with feigned annoyance, raising one eyebrow at the charming smile he found himself faced with.

"You know I live only to please one," Grantaire said dramatically, almost falling to knee but stopping himself as he remembered the bag of clothes just in time. "Tell me O Great Apollo, is your mother in?"

"In the parlour," Enjolras told him, rolling his eyes at the nickname. "And do not call me that in front of her."

"I will do my best," Grantaire shrugged. "Lead on."

Enjolras was the only reason Jehan allowed his brother-in-law to deliver to one of his richest customers, but the tailor loved romance of every sort, even when it consisted of one-sided mooning with affection shown only through teasing.

"Your Ladyship," Grantaire said politely as he entered the parlour, inclining his head.

"Ah, Mr Vanderhaume. Right on time, as always."

Enjolras took his usual seat by the bookshelf and pretended to ignore Grantaire as he drew the parcel from his bag and opened it to show Lady Rebekah the dress.

"Beautiful as ever," she declared. "What do you think Enjolras?"

The blonde glanced over. "It surpasses the one you insisted on trying from the other guy," he commented.

"My brother would be honoured to hear that sir," Grantaire replied, a twinkle present in his eye as was always the case in the presence of Enjolras's parents and his therefore forced politeness.

"Collect the money from the housekeeper on your way out."

Grantaire knew a dismissal when he heard one, and with another inclination of his head he left the room and headed back through to the kitchen.

* * *

"But ma!" Cosette protested, her Irish accent coming through as was always the case when she was upset. "I had plans!"

"Cancel them," Fantine told her. "We need the money from them chicks, and you have been putting off taking them to the market for a while now. You will take them tomorrow."

"Aye ma," she agreed finally, sighing as she grabbed a bucket. "I'm off to feed 'em, I will be in for tea."

Fantine sighed heavily as she watched her daughter leave the house dejectedly. As an Irish widow life was tough and so, however much she wanted her daughter to have the best she could, all too often the fourteen-year-old was forced to work simply so as to keep food on the table.

* * *

Grantaire whistled as he headed back home, calling out in Dutch as he entered the house and headed for the kitchen.

"You are late," his sister called back in English. As the children of a trader, Grantaire and Giselle had grown up speaking both Dutch and English, something which had played a large factor in their choice to move over to London when Jehan had first considered it as the tailor's English had then been practically non-existent. "Money?"

"In your hand," he grinned, kissing her cheek and placing the bag of coins in her outstretched hand. "They loved it, as always."

"Tell that to Jehan, but first, you have paintings due tomorrow, and I know you have not finished them."

"Going, going!" he protested, swiping a small pie and escaping next door before she could say anything.

* * *

"Evening love," Rosemary said softly as Feuilly entered the kitchen, his arms wrapping around her from behind. "How was work?"

"I reckon those balls will be finished on time," he replied, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Just got two left and I can do them tonight, then deliver them tomorrow. He can't complain if they are a day early."

"Watch him try." Poking his nose, she turned in his arms once his head was lifted. "Dinner won't be long."

"Good, I'm starved." He kissed her softly then placed a hand down on her swollen stomach. "And how are you and our darlin'?"

"He's kicking again, but nothing I can't live with. Eliza helped me sell some of your fans earlier, on the market. She's growing up fast."

"Too fast," Feuilly muttered unhappily. "She'll be married before we know it."

"We have a while yet before that," Rosemary promised. "Now you can either let go and let me finish dinner, or you can make yourself useful and help."

Sneaking one last kiss, he stepped back and held his hands out.

"How can I be of help ma'am?"

Their laughter filled the house as she flicked him with a cloth, and both quickly got back to work.

* * *

"I am telling you, Enjolras must be fond of someone, because this is the third time he has ditched us in favour of sitting at home with his mother," the Duke of York told his companion.

"You do realise we are talking of Enjolras, and therefore that is the most unlikely conclusion," Combeferre replied, but Courfeyrac shook his head.

"Trust me with this. It is not like Enjolras to want to spend a minute longer in that house than is necessary."

"Maybe he is not in the house, but elsewhere."

"Then why has he not told us?" Courfeyrac demanded. "No, there is someone. I know it."

"You know what?"

They both jumped at the voice and span to see a confused looking Enjolras standing there.

"I, uh, that is," Courfeyrac stammered, and Combeferre rolled his eyes, nudging his friend as a warning to remove the guilty look from his face.

"Nothing important," he said smoothly. "Where have you been? You are late."

"I was unavoidably detained," Enjolras replied just as smoothly. "What have I missed?"

* * *

"Injured yourself again Bossuet?" The doctor shook his head despairingly. "What was it this time?"

"Fell down some steps at the docks," the trader answered, holding his arm carefully. "Thankfully the ground broke my fall, as I cannot swim so landing in the river would have been interesting."

"Musichetta ought to keep a better eye on you," Joly murmured, inspecting the arm carefully. "Well, it is not broken, just badly bruised. Be careful with it for a few days, and it will sort itself out."

"Thank you doctor."

"Try and stay away from here for at least a few days," Joly joked, "or 'Chetta will be getting jealous."

Bossuet laughed and raised a hand as he left, wincing moments later as he realised he'd lifted the wrong arm. Shaking his head, Joly turned to the next patient.

"Marius Pontmercy? Been a while since I've seen you here."

"Been a while since I have done anything more than a small burn," Marius replied. "Bit more serious this time though."

"You can say that again." Joly whistled, long and low. "What did you do, put your hand straight in the fire?"

"Picked something up that fell out of it," the baker muttered embarrassedly.

"Idiot."

* * *

"Jehan, Giselle says you are late for dinner and if you aren't there in two minutes you'll get nothing."

"She exaggerates," Jehan said with a wave of his hand, beckoning Grantaire further into the room. "Here, what do you think of this? I am making it for this love of yours."

"He is hardly my love, more an idealistic idiot I happen to be fond of," Grantaire grumbled, but he headed in to see the waistcoat anyway. It was bright red, with gold thread woven together and sewn on to form decoration on the front. "Wow," he breathed as he studied the item of clothing. "He will love it, I know that."

"Good. It is a gift for you to give to him. Maybe then he will pay you better attention."

"He already pays me plenty of attention," Grantaire protested but Jehan was ignoring him again, packing the waistcoat away and preparing to leave for dinner. "Fine, thank you."

"You are welcome," Jehan told his brother-in-law. "Come on, before your delightful sister follows through on her threat."

* * *

Limping, Valjean made his way up onto the deck, eyes fixing on the cliffs he saw in the distance.

"England?" he asked the nearest sailor.

"Aye," came the response. "We'll be in London tomorrow, the tide's against us now."

The lame watchmaker nodded.

"Good," he said, heading back down to his cabin again. "Good."

* * *

"But I don't want to go to sleep," the little girl whined and Musichetta sighed.

"I don't care Elizabeth, it is your bedtime. Now what would your father say?"

"But 'Chetta!"

"But 'Chetta nothing. Bed. Now!"

Once the girl was finally in bed, Musichetta headed back downstairs to the kitchen, poking her head into the bakery.

"Both children are asleep sir. Do you have any other jobs for me?"

"No 'Chetta, I've already sorted the ovens in here. See you in the morning."

"Yes sir. Good night."


End file.
